Cherringham--Snowblind (11 page)

And it was all there, the names and histories of the residents, employee records, billing accounts.

Nothing about drugs though.

Maybe that was in a paper file, and Jack would find it.

But she quickly brought up Archy’s case history.

The records showed that the old guy had years of hospital stays, other homes, and the progress of his Alzheimer’s … severe and inevitable, until he ended up here, confused and wandering out into a blizzard.

Then — something interesting.

Old Archy did some time in Belmarsh prison. Didn’t say what he was in for — perhaps, those records were confidential, locked.

But it looked like Archy hadn’t exactly been a choirboy.

“Jack — take a look.”

Holding a handful of manila folders, Jack walked over. “Archy’s an ex-con. Wow.”

“Hard to believe …” said Sarah.

“Even bad guys grow old, end up in homes,” said Jack.

“Whatever he did — he paid for it in prison,” said Sarah.

“Looks like he did a five-year stretch,” said Jack. “You got to do more than have your fingers in the till for that.”

Then: “Can you get Reg’s record up?”

“Sure.” She kept looking at Jack. “You think—?”

Jack smiled. “Not sure what I think Sarah. But let’s see what Reg’s story is while we’re in.”

Sarah turned back to the monitor, and searched for Reg’s details.

“Here we go. And—”

“What?”

Jack leaned over her shoulder.

“Archy’s records showed a long history of dealing with Alzheimer’s. But Reg? Months ago he went into Royal Derby Hospital for gall bladder surgery. No mention of anything else until then. But then notes here about sudden erratic behaviour, see … ‘signs of rapid onset dementia …’”

“Rapid?”

“Yes, and look: ‘patient’s solicitor requested that only Broadmead be considered for convalescent care’.”

“Only Broadmead? I have to think there are better places than this house of horrors.”

Sarah scrolled through the rest of the information on patient Reg’s file. The she stopped.

“Oh God, Jack. This is too weird.”

“What am I looking at?”

She pointed at a line. “Reg’s previous medical history had been transferred from Belmarsh prison to Derby, the same—”

“—prison that housed Archy. Though, it looks like Reg had a much longer stay.”

“Decades. Looks like Reg and Archy must have been old pals.”

“Or at least in the same line of business, huh?” said Jack.

She stopped then. “I don’t see what this has to do with Craig, or drugs. But this—” she turned to Jack, “is something, yes?”

A nod. “Could be. For now — let’s stay on track with how they handle their drug records here. I’m thinking that for anything dodgy, they wouldn’t want a digital record … not when there are hackers like you out there.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “
Hacker
? Hardly. I could make all these systems so much more secure!”

She watched Jack put a pile of folders down on the other side of the desk, and begin going through them.

Could someone come in here?
she thought.

Could they even be sure that Woods was gone for the night?

She just hoped that whatever they were looking for they’d find it fast.

Jack worked fast — this was a task he’d done many times before. He knew what he was looking for: the drug dispensing files, but also the drug purchasing folder too.

Each file he skimmed through, he stacked on one side.

But the paper files were dense. Invoices, training, security, staff correspondence — there was stuff in here from years back before Heathstone had bought Broadmead.

He looked past Sarah at the CCTV monitor which showed the exterior of the home. Nothing moving outside. Shame there weren’t cameras in the corridors. Any second now that door could open and …

“This is going to take some time,” he said.

“How long we got?”

“Another five minutes and I’ll start feeling edgy,” said Jack. “Why don’t you copy everything you can — just in case.”

“I’m on it already,” said Sarah, slotting a flash drive into the computer.

Jack picked up the pile of folders, dropped them back in the filing cabinet and shut the drawer. Then he slid open the next drawer above, took out another stack of files and joined Sarah at the desk.

Purchasing orders — he was in the right place. And then he hit the folder he needed.

“This’ll do nicely,” he said, quickly scanning the contents. “Monthly totals of all pharmaceuticals purchased, going back a couple of years. Now we just need to find out how they dispensed them.”

He took the folder back to the filing cabinet and got the next batch out of the drawer.

As he returned to the desk, a movement on the CCTV screen caught his eye. He peered at the top quarter of the TV: through the softly falling snow a figure was walking towards the front door of Broadmead Grange. As they approached the camera, Jack recognised the face.

“Sarah,” he said, nodding to the screen. “We’ve got houseguests.”

Sarah turned — and Jack could see the alarm in her face.

“Shirley Woods,” she said.

“Did I say five minutes?” he said. “Make that three.”

His hands flew through the files, and then—

“Got it.”

“Dispensing sheets?”

“Yep, all signed by Ania,” he said. “Patient by patient, going back to … last year.”

“So we can see if dosages have changed?”

“Exactly,” said Jack, rolling the papers and slotting them deep in his winter jacket. “The proof we’re looking for — I hope.”

He heard a door slam deep within the building.

“Time we got out of here,” he said. “You got the download?”

He watched Sarah ease the digital stick out, then run through the shutdown.

“I have now.”

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Back to the car?” said Sarah.

“Not quite yet,” said Jack. “I think we ought to put the squeeze on our friend Craig before we go …”

“Looking forward to that already,” said Sarah.

What a partner,
thought Jack.
Like I never retired …

He flicked the desk light off, tidied the drawers of the filing cabinet and gently opened the door, aware of Sarah close behind him.

He looked each way down the dimly lit corridor — empty. He checked Sarah was ready — and slipped out of the office. As soon as Sarah was out too, he shut the door gently behind him. It locked automatically with a click as he closed it.

And then he heard another door opening, just yards away. He could see Shirley Woods emerging, her back luckily towards them.

He grabbed Sarah and pulled her quickly across the corridor into the dark shadows of a stairwell. He held his breath — if Woods turned to go up these stairs then the game was up.

As he watched, the sister strode by, head up, busy, busy. She paused at her office, took out a key, unlocked the door and went in — all without seeing them.

“Guess it’s our lucky day,” said Jack. He could hear Sarah’s steady breathing in and out.

Tense moment
… Then:

“What are we waiting for?” she whispered with a smile.

So, with Sarah at his side, he headed down the corridor deeper into the home to find Craig.

Sarah followed Jack down the corridor. Although she felt lost, it seemed that Jack knew where he was going.

The place was eerily quiet. But as they turned a corner, she could hear the sound of hushed male voices and the clink of glass on bottle. She smelled cigarette smoke too …

At the end of this corridor she could see a half-open door, and light spilled out.

Just ahead of her, Jack paused and turned: “Kitchens,” he said. “And if I’m not mistaken, that sounds like our old friend Craig.”

She followed him to the door, and pressed against the wall right next to him so she could listen to the low, muttered conversation in the kitchen.

“Top-up?”

“Large one, this time Craig — none of your bleedin’ country measures.”

The other voice was older, gravelly. Sarah thought she recognised it, but couldn’t quite place it. She heard the glasses clinking again. Then the older voice continued. Craig was clearly getting some careers advice …

“Like I was saying — you got a choice, son. Big frog, little pond — or little frog, big pond. What you got to remember is — cheers — little frogs get bigger don’t they?”

“Easy for you to say. You got connections,” said Craig.

“I’ll make ’em your connections, too.”

“I dunno. I’ve got a nice deal here. Why muck it up?”

“Can’t go on forever. Gotta move on. Move
up
. Big city — big margins.”

“Big risks though.”

“Risks is life, son. Don’t get nowhere without it.”

“You think I can cut it?”

“Sure. You’ll be working for me. Not just skimmin’ benzos off a trolley. I mean the real deal. Import. Export. Your own little patch.”

“Gotta admit — this place stinks. And all these effin’ zombies — I hate them, sometimes, I just want to punch ’em, know what I mean?”

Sarah never saw Jack move faster — she watched as he pushed the door open as if it wasn’t there and strode ahead of her into the kitchen.

She followed him into the kitchen as everything seemed to happen at once. The door banged back hard on its hinges and she saw a table at the far end of the room with Craig now looking up surprised, then pushing his chair backwards and getting up fast, retreating and hurling a glass at Jack as he approached …

Jack sounding so angry.

This was new.

“Craig — what did I tell you about using that word?”

“Whoa, you! How did you—”

And Sarah now seeing in Jack’s hand his old NYPD nightstick suddenly appearing—

Where the hell was he keeping that hidden?
she thought …

And as Craig backed away against the big cooking ranges, cowering, she saw almost in slow motion who was sitting at the table quietly observing this mayhem: Reg Povey.

Reg. Glass of scotch in one hand, cigarette in the other, feet up on the table. Dressed not in pyjamas or nightgown, but in micro-fleece and jeans.

Reg. Not baffled dementia patient, surely …

But lean, mean-looking, wily old man.

Hardened criminal — according to those records.

Meanwhile Jack had hold of Craig by the T-shirt and was dragging him across to a chair by the back door.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry — I didn’t do nothin’,” Craig was saying over and over again, his hands on his head …

Like he’s a prisoner in a war film,
thought Sarah.

“Shut up, sit down and don’t move,” said Jack to Craig.

Sarah realised that everything had gone quiet. The rush of action finished as quickly as it had started. She was breathing heavily.

“Dear, oh dear,” said Reg, flicking ash into a saucer. “Cops. Same the whole world over. Can’t just walk into a room politely, eh?”

“You haven’t got dementia,” said Sarah, thinking aloud.

“Oh, I have, darling,” said Reg. “Been diagnosed. By a proper doctor.”

“That must have cost you,” said Jack. Sarah could see him keeping one eye on Craig in his chair and now sizing up Reg.

“Now that’s a slur, Jack. Doctors don’t lie,” said Reg. “Just like cops. Isn’t that right?”

“Why pretend to have dementia?” said Sarah. “I don’t understand …”

Sarah watched Reg lean across to the bottle of Scotch on the table and pour himself another shot.

“Sarah, you got a signal in here?” said Jack.

She pulled out her phone, checked — and shook her head.

“Bad luck, sweetheart,” said Reg. “Coverage here is crap. It’s played havoc with my bookie.”

Sarah looked at Jack and shrugged. She knew that what he’d really meant was — time to call the cops …

Going to have to play for time,
she thought.

“Why did you come here Reg?” she said quickly.

But it was Jack who answered.

“It was for Archy, wasn’t it, Reg?”

Sarah felt confused.

What was Jack saying?

“But I’ve seen his records,” she said to Reg. “He was very ill. You couldn’t help him.”

Jack took a step closer to Reg, nightstick still in his hand. And Reg nodded.

“I didn’t want to
help
him, love,” said Reg, smiling.

That smile … scary,
she thought.

“I wanted to kill the bastard.”

“He put you inside, didn’t he?” said Jack. “Long stretch, huh?”

“Could say that. Twenty years,” said Reg.

“For something you didn’t do?” said Sarah.

Her blood chilled as Reg laughed again.

“Do me a favour — of course I
did
it. But he was supposed to go down for it — not me.”

“He did a deal with the cops?” said Jack.

“Exactly,” said Reg. “And I’ve had to wait a very long time to get my own back.”

“But you managed it,” said Jack.

“With pleasure,” said Reg.

“Got yourself in here, fooled everyone, then just … led him out into the snow to die.”

“Piece of cake,” said Reg. “Wasn’t the original plan, of course. I wanted it to hurt a bit more. But I thought — all that snow — nobody would ever know.”

“The perfect murder,” said Sarah.

“It would have been,” said Jack. “If it hadn’t been for Craig’s little drugs scam.”

“Ah,” said Reg, stubbing out his cigarette. “So, that’s what brought you back. I thought I’d got rid of you.”

She watched as Reg pushed back his chair and stood up. He smiled at her again — and the smile made her feel queasy.

“I should thank you really, for giving me a lift back from the pub the other day,” he said. “Very decent of you.”

Sarah wondered what was going to happen.

Jack stood looking immoveable by the back door, his nightstick steady. Craig sat with his hands between his knees looking scared.

“Course, I’m not quite as feeble as I look,” said Reg. “Not much to do in prison. Gotta work out, stay fit, isn’t that right, Jack?”

“You can’t get away,” said Jack.

But Reg didn’t seem to be listening. He turned to Craig: “So what’s it going to be, Craig me old son? Big city — or small time?”